A Night With Millie
by dcat8888
Summary: This is an angstfilled missing scene from the episode ‘The Birthday Present.  It takes place after the shooting of Weed Randall, and concludes just before the epilogue scene.


A Night With Millie

by dcat

I'm obviously in a missing scene/emotion laded mood lately….please be advised!

This is an angst-filled missing scene from the episode 'The Birthday Present. It takes place after the shooting of Weed Randall, and concludes just before the epilogue scene.

The song referenced is 'Just Remember I Love You'

I do not own these characters.

OOOOO

What kind of crazy lunatic would bring a .45 into a hospital chapel? Probably only someone dumb enough or scared enough to, someone who didn't know where else to turn in this most troubling of times. Mark shook his head in despair, he was the lunatic and the only guy he'd go to was lying unconscious in a bed three floors upstairs from the chapel.

He was also a murderer, and a car thief and filled with so much fear and sadness now that he was at the only place he could think of that might even begin to help. He couldn't keep thinking about himself though, he needed to beg and plead and pray that Hardcastle would survive. That was at the top of his mind right now. _Let the Judge live, please_, he thought

McCormick could still feel his hands still quivering, especially his right hand, the one that had pulled the trigger just a short time ago. He pulled the door open and entered the softly illuminated, yet rather, tiny room. A couple of candles flickered up in the front.

Thank goodness the chapel was empty. He didn't want to be around anyone and he had all the company he needed with the 'friend' he toted in his left hand, still wrapped in the familiar, aqua-blue surgical cloth that Hardcastle's doctor had handed him hours ago. Why had the police kept the gun wrapped up in it anyway? He shrugged off trying to understand the whys and wherefores of the LAPD long ago. It didn't matter, he was back in possession of Millie. He didn't really want to be seen with her, but until he could either take her home or give her back to the original owner, he was pretty much stuck with hauling her around.

He looked down at his left hand. That was Millie. Sleek, black, American made through and through and evenly balanced to fit perfectly in any hand. If that's where you wanted her. Right now, he'd have rather she was tucked safely away in the gun drawer, under lock and key never to be seen again. She could be one angry and vicious lady. Definitely not a woman to be taken lightly or abused in any manner. McCormick always respected her, but after today his feelings about her completely changed. He wanted no part of her ever again.

_Forget about her, keep thinking good thoughts about Milt_, he repeated to himself, hoping to keep his focus on the Judge. It wasn't working.

She sat there on the seat, almost taunting him. Damn her. Just last night he and Milt boasted about Millie's spec's and attributes to Sandy while they were out in the gatehouse. 'Millie's a 45 that hangs upside down under Milt's arm. There's not a speck of chrome or a pearl handle on her, right Milt?" That's what he'd said and Milt happily ecstatic agreed.

Milt Hardcastle wasn't so much thinking about Millie though as he was about the opportunity he was being given to try Weed Randall one more time. He was coming out of retirement to hear the new case and he was busily and energetically preparing for his proverbial day in court.

Who knew that night in the gatehouse that he'd need to use her to protect himself. Everything happened so quick in the courtroom that Milt never had a chance to use her.

Mark did.

And now the wave upon wave of doubt, despair, fear and numbing sadness soaked deep into every part of him. He killed a man with her. He took his right hand and ran it over his face as he stood just inside the doorway of the chapel.

He stood at the back of the room for what seemed to be ions, not looking at anything in particular and especially not at the back-lit cross that hung directly in front of him and overpowered the room, no, he couldn't bear to look at that, not yet anyway. He focused instead on the flickering candles. For a few moments they lulled him into a false sense of security. Even their calming effect couldn't take away what he had done though.

Something though, drew him forward, so he finally took the dozen or so steps to the front and sat down, feeling himself being pulled there, exhausted mentally, he sort of slouched and melted into the seat, every part of him seemed to be more weakened than normal.

His mind was blank, frozen and nearly dead from all that had transpired. He'd always been able to make sense of things before, but this, this was new territory and it terrified him more than any other thing he'd ever done in his short life, and he'd be the first to admit that he had done some stupid things. He _never_ thought he'd ever kill someone.

He tried to let it go and think about something else, something like the Judge's well being, but the blankness and blackness remained that was till he realized he was clutching onto Millie with every amount of strength he could manage to radiate. Maybe letting her go would help let him go.

He looked down at his taut and tense hand and suddenly, almost forcefully let it go and it dropped every so gently onto the padded seat beside him.

He looked away, but kept coming back to her, sitting there, unmoving, unfeeling and yet somehow utterly connected to him. He truly hated her and everything she stood for.

"You really got it out for me, don't you?" he asked the inanimate object. "All this time I never gave you more than a passing thought, you didn't mean anything to me and now you've twisted yourself all around me. I don't want anything to do with you anymore." He glanced down at wrapped weapon and wished he could simply destroy it, but it wasn't technically his property, Millie belonged to Hardcastle. "He should have given you to Sandy. He was right, I didn't know what to do with you. I made things a whole lot worse."

For some reason, he was unknowingly drawn to her. He reached for her and took off the surgical cloth and let it lay on the chair. Then he removed Millie from the holster and sat there, holding the steely piece of black metal. "How can anyone think you're beautiful?" He quickly set it off to the side, letting it come to rest on top of the holster and the cloth and he turned his focus to the side wall.

That didn't last long, he picked her back up again, running his fingers over every inch and every nook and cranny. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for or if he'd ever find it. He saw there were still several rounds inside her, the safety was on and he gently released it. "You helped me kill someone," he said as he stared at her. He shivered and breathed in a shuddered, terrified breath. He lifted up his shaking hands holding onto the gun and put it right in front of his face. Everything was still. He shut his eyes, there was still nothing, she had no answer for him.

When he opened his eyes back up, his focus changed. He still saw the gun, but now it was blurred, this time he focused on the cross behind it. It was clear and bright. He didn't know how long he sat like that, still holding the gun in front of him, but he finally tripped the safety back on and putting it into his left hand, he slowly let it down to the chair beside him.

Was he clinging to what he'd done with it? He hoped not. What he had done with it made him sick. Or was he clinging to it because of his connection to its rightful owner? He purposefully closed his eyes and gave himself over to finding an answer. Millie wasn't the answer, but maybe the cross was.

It was so quiet in the chapel that he could hear the sirens from an ambulance outside making its way toward the emergency exit. He tried to remember the things Frank had said to him earlier, it had made sense, but it wasn't sinking in now. The sirens got louder and that sound brought back its own memories. It was the scores and scores of police squads and ambulances first pulling up to the Sutter's Annex of the Courthouse and then more recently, the same type of flood of vehicles pulling up to the motel where he had killed Weed Randall.

Yep, there it was, at the forefront of his thoughts again. He had _killed_ Weed Randall. His hands were still shaking.

Still sitting there with his eyes closed, he leaned his head forward ever so slightly and felt the tension rebuilding behind his eyes. For some reason the lyrics from some old song from the 70's popped into his head. _When you feel like crying, but the tears won't come…_ _What_, he wondered, _where had that come from?_ It was just a dumb song, but now the words cut through him, appearing out of nowhere in his subconscious. Was it trying to tell him something? Is that what he wanted to do, cry? Crying wasn't going to help the Judge and it wasn't going to undo him shooting Weed Randall. No, crying wasn't the answer. It was childish and it wasn't an answer for anything. What possible good would it do? His mind flashed an image of the Judge slumping over, all the color draining from his face. The Judge had only managed to say a few words before he gave into unconsciousness. Was that going to be it? He had so much to say to the Judge, it couldn't just end like this. This wasn't real, it couldn't be happening. He thought back to Weed Randall, cradled in his arms, dying. That made him want to throw up as he couldn't help but see the blood and the life oozing out of him. He'd done that. He shot and killed Weed Randall, with his 'friend' Millie sitting next to him on the chair, in the hospital chapel. He lifted both his hands and with his two index fingers he pinched the sides of his nose, right by the corners of his eyes. No, no tears were coming. That's what had brought up the line from that song

_Aw, grow up McCormick_, he thought to himself as he sat back up straight. You're supposed to be in here praying for Milt and while you're at it, pray for your miserable soul for taking someone else's life. "God, do I ever need your help on this one," he said aloud to the quiet room. He kept his eyes closed, but forced himself to relax the tension from his face, if only for a few moments. It took him back….

OOOOO

He must have talked with at least six different officers at the motel and related what had transpired, and he was becoming hoarse by continually repeating the same explanations over and over, but it wasn't until Frank Harper had appeared on the scene, obviously off-duty by his casual attire of blue jeans and sweatshirt, that Mark took his first calming breath since he'd pulled the trigger. Harper walked right over to him and in no uncertain terms told the Officer asking him questions to beat it.

"I was just heading over to the hospital to see how Milt was, when I heard this call come over the radio, what the hell is going on Mark?" Harper thought to play it a bit tougher than usual, knowing the kid and his penchant for wise cracks.

McCormick opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He'd been able to easily talk to the officers on the scene. He had even remained calm after he shot Weed and asked the motel manager to call the police and an ambulance. But standing there, next to Frank, he suddenly went mute, the mental trauma of what had transpired was catching up to him.

Harper quickly realized that McCormick wasn't the usual McCormick, otherwise he'd have had a smart aleck response for him. _What in the hell had the kid gotten into now?_ Harper wondered to himself. Frank grabbed his arm and pulled him away from tiny, compacted space that was already taped off with the familiar yellow plastic police tape. McCormick followed with some reluctance. "It's okay, I'm a cop remember?" Frank reminded him. "Nothing's gonna happen to you, you're with me. Now come on," he all but demanded of Mark. They walked about half way down the block before Harper spoke again. "You wanna tell me what happened?" He eyed McCormick up and down and the kid was still not saying a word. Frank glanced around and spotted a bus stop shelter with a bench inside. "Come here," he grabbed his arm once again and made him sit down. "Look, completely off the record here, okay, this is me, Frank, just tell me what's going on Mark," he shook head back and forth in a comical fashion, trying to lighten up the mood. Mark watched him and tried to force some sort of a smile, but it wasn't working. "All right, seriously Mark, just tell me, let me help."

McCormick took a deep breath and nodded and then replayed the whole day for Frank, every tiny detail he recalled from the morning episode at the courthouse to what had just occurred at the nearby motel. He told him everything that happened, leaving nothing out, including taking the car in the hospital parking lot, something he'd inadvertently withheld from the officers on the scene. "I completely forgot to tell them about the car Frank," his head collapsed in his hands, "I'm dead for sure, they'll run the plate and see that it doesn't belong to me. Now what? I really just forgot Frank, I mean, I just killed a guy, I, um, I'm not thinking right. They'll never believe it, just one look at my record will tell them that."

Frank listened to the whole explanation without commenting. When Mark was finished he simply said, "You don't have anything to worry about Mark, hell, you saved Sandy's life, not to mention your own probably, and the woman, and who knows who else Randall might have killed before someone stopped him."

"I, uh, um, but I didn't tell the cops about the car Frank," McCormick shook his head. "Another car stealing conviction is going to send me back, hell, using a firearm while I'm on parole will tack on even more, no matter what strings Hardcastle can pull, and that's a mighty big if right now, considering his condition. I think the strings are going to be severed this time. If Hardcastle survives he'll pull my ticket for sure. I did some stupid things in my life, but he'll never understand any of this. What was I thinking?"

"What were you thinking? I'll tell you what you were thinking," Frank began, "You were thinking like Hardcastle, you did what you had to do Mark, simple as that." Harper stood up and gazed up and down the street, trying to think of a plan. "Here's what we'll do, we'll take the car back, it's probably a doctor's car, probably doesn't even know it's missing. I'll drive it over and you follow me in mine, that way if anyone does say anything, I'll just flash my badge and say police necessity. No one'll question it."

"What about all this?" Mark pointed back toward the latest crime scene. "I can't just walk off, I killed him, Frank, the cops still want to question me."

"They can question you later. Would you listen to me for a change, Hardcastle's right about you, you know, you need to let people help you out, you don't have to do it alone all the time. There are people you can trust and I'm one of them. I'll help you out of this."

McCormick sunk his head, and tried to take a deep breath, "I'm really scared Frank. These past 24 hours have been a nightmare."

"You okay to drive my car?" Frank asked with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood yet again. "I don't even let Claudia drive my baby, so I need to know if I can let a hot-shot race car driver behind the wheel, I don't need you hot-rodding her, she needs to be treated with care."

Mark picked up his head and gave the first hint of a smile and nodded. "I can drive her."

"Let's get going then," Frank said tapping Mark's leg.

They walked back to the crime scene melee and Frank had Mark wait off to the side while he went and talked to the officers in charge. Whatever he said and did worked, because in less than ten minutes the two of them were on their way to the hospital, Mark leading the way driving Frank's car so he could show him where to park the car he'd taken.

OOOOO

It worked out just fine in the parking lot and Frank was probably right, the car most likely was a doctor's and no one seemed to notice that it had been missing for several hours.

As Frank parked, Mark eased Frank's baby, an '82 Cutlass Supreme, into a spot of her own. He locked her up and walked over to Frank and handed him the keys. "You're right Frank, that's a nice car you got there," he began, "I don't know how I'm ever gonna pay you back or even thank you for all of this Frank. You really got me out of a big jam. And if Hardcastle finds out you did all this, we'll both be in trouble." He left out his right hand for Frank to shake, which they did, ever so solemnly. "Thank you."

Frank noticed he still was shaking like a leaf. "There's no need to for either Mark. You and Milt, well, let's just say that I know I can count on you guys too, when need be. Let's just leave it at that. That's all that matters in the long run anyway. Let's go inside and see how Milt's doing and we can both deal with his wrath later."

No change, that's what the nurse had said up at the ICU reception area. McCormick started to get frustrated when she told him he'd have to wait out in the hall. Frank flashed his badge again and insisted that the two of them be allowed into the waiting room even though neither was a blood relative. ICU had its special rules, but the nurse must have sensed the need for the two of them to wait in the solitude and comfort of the waiting room. She rather easily relented to his request once she saw his shield.

"Frank, you don't need to hang around here, there's nothing either one of us can do but wait," Mark began. "No sense in both of us hanging around and it's obviously your day off."

"Are you kidding? Claudia wanted me to do some painting in the house. I'd do just about anything to get out of that," Harper sat back and absently picked up a magazine.

"I'd rather do the painting right now," Mark said sadly. "I wish I could make this all go away."

Harper realized the mistake he'd said, "I didn't mean it like that Mark."

McCormick waved him off, "I know, I'm just being overly sensitive right now. I'm sorry."

"I told you to knock that off. You gotta try to stay positive Mark, I've been through this, on both sides enough times to know. Quit thinking of all the bad stuff and just think of the good stuff."

Easier said than done, that's all that McCormick was thinking.

They waited for several hours when two patrol officers came up to talk to Frank.

"Mark, how about going to get us some coffee, we could both use some," Harper said, as the two officers appeared at the doorway, hoping to push McCormick out of the room while he took care of things yet again.

Mark looked up from the magazine he was reading, surprised by the uniformed presence. His throat dropped down to his gut. "Yeah, I'll get some," he said, quickly rising to his feet, glad for a change that he held back a smart remark or an argument for Frank. "I, uh, I'll check on Hardcastle too," he added. He brushed past the two cops on his way out. If only they knew how fast his heart was racing at that moment, they would have found a reason to probably arrest him for that alone. It had to be breaking some sort of crazy law. Good thing they didn't have a clue about a lot of things. And an even better thing, Frank was there to run interference for him.

His mind began to think all sorts of crazy thoughts, but he kept telling himself to focus on getting coffee and checking on Hardcastle.

When he got back to the waiting area, the two cops were gone and Frank was reading Sports Illustrated.

"Hey, great Mark, I need the coffee," Harper said holding out his hand to take one of the cups. McCormick froze, "Mark, give me the coffee there will ya?" He finally moved toward handing him one of the steaming cups.

McCormick couldn't wait any longer. "What did they want?"

"They brought over Milt's gun." He gestured over to the wrapped up gun.

"That's it?" McCormick was stunned.

Frank nodded, "Yep, that's it. I told you to quit worrying. Oh, and Sandy's in recovery, he's gonna be fine. Any news on Milt?"

Mark drank down a sip from his cup. "The same, no change. You're sure there's nothing else? 'Cause I'd rather know now what I'm looking at Frank. This whole thing been sour all along, if there's more coming, I'd just like to know. Are they gonna arrest me?"

Frank was smiling, "Nothing else is coming. You've been cleared, self defense, and coming to the aid of a police officer, that's why they dropped the gun off. You might even get a commendation."

Mark couldn't believe his ears, "I'm not interested in a commendation," McCormick added.

Harper finished his coffee and stood up, "Give it time Mark," he gave him a fatherly pat on his shoulder. "Listen, I better get to my painting. Are you gonna be fine here? You can come help me if you want or I can drop you off at Gulls Way?"

Mark shook his head no, "I'm gonna stay here Frank, I have to."

"I figured as much," Harper gave him a smile. "You're out here waiting, and he's in there fighting to live, both of you stubborn as donkeys. I told Claudia as much when I left home. No wonder you two get along so well. I'll call you up later on and check on both of you and if you need something, just give me a call, all right?" Frank waited for eye contact and verbal reassurance.

"I will, I promise."

As Frank left, he noticed McCormick's hands were still shaking.

OOOOO

As the night got later, the ICU waiting room began to fill up. That's when Mark decided to pick up his friend and try to find a quieter spot. He asked the nurse at the desk if there was a 'less busy' spot and she suggested the chapel. He must have had a weird look on his face, because she began to suggest another spot but he interrupted her and said that he was going to the chapel and if anything changed with Hardcastle's condition that he should come and get him.

And this was where he'd landed, in the front row of the chapel, him and his friend Millie and a long, painful night ahead of them.

McCormick finally opened his eyes. He slid his left hand over to the gun and he patted it. "I'm not so sure you belong in this sort of place Millie," he said out loud.

She didn't answer.

He continued, "All right, all right, I'm not so sure I belong in this sort of place either. Maybe I should take you a bar? I know I could use a good, stiff drink right now. You're the silent type huh? That's okay, I have enough to say for the both of us."

McCormick finally turned his head upward to look up at the cross and he just kept on talking. "You said anyone is welcome in here right, at anytime, for any reason? I know, I shouldn't be bringing a gal like Millie in here, but I'm sort of stuck here, I can't just leave her anywhere, that wouldn't be prudent now would it?" He didn't look at the cross for very long, before leaning forward and putting his elbows just above his knees and cupping his head in the palms of his hands. "You know what the two of us did today, I don't have to tell you, you see everything and I can only imagine what you think about it." He let out a sad sounding exhale and shook his head in his own hands. "I mean, I broke the biggest one you put out there. _I did it_, I can't put the blame on that on old Millie here, she's not responsible, I am. I know what you're thinking, she's not a good influence for this sort of thing, but I'm the one who did it and now I have to live with what I've done." As he sat before the cross, head buried in his hands, the tears finally started to flow, tiny at first and as he sat there, his hands couldn't control the fear that began to shake him and overtake his whole body, his sobbing racking him from head to toe, unable to stop, unable to even try to control his heavy weeping. His breathing jagged and heavy. His eyes, weary and red, his hands damp with the myriad of his own tears.

His thoughts and memories of what had happened, replaying themselves over and over in his head. Every millisecond of how it played out. Milt in the courtroom, waiting at the hospital, Sandy getting shot, Mark holding the gun, pleading and begging Weed not to do it and seeing that look in his eye, that split second glimpse of hell itself when he knew it was either going to be Weed Randall or himself. No, as he sat there he knew that pulling the trigger didn't make it at all right, what he had done, well it was a choice and he made the choice to end Weed Randall's life. Some might call it self-defense to try to make it sound less like murder, but no sort of semantic word play would change what he did.

"God, I'm sorry," he found the strength to say, and he repeated over and over and over with his tired and contrite voice, till he couldn't say it any longer and the crying and sadness overtook him.

He had no idea how long he sat there like that, crying inconsolably, waiting and wanting some sort of an answer. He finally began to quell the anguish that tore through him and using his sleeves he wiped away the remaining tears from his face and chin. Once again he looked up at the cross and came to the realization that his penance of sorts would be that he'd have to live with what he'd done for the rest of his life and that would be a heavy burden to bear. He knew he couldn't just fold up his life, he had to go on. But, still he shook his head in sorrow.

And as quickly as the tears had come, his thoughts immediately turned to his friend Milt. "Whatever you want to do to me I can accept, but please let Hardcastle be okay." He peered over to Millie who still sat beside him. "He knows what to do with her, how to handle her, it takes a real special man to do that and he's one of your best. He doesn't deserve any of this. I let him down big time, if it wasn't for Frank, I'd probably be in jail right now, I still got a feeling I'll end up there. I still have a whole lot to learn from him. Let him teach me, please?" It was time for another exhale. "I'm doing it again, this isn't about me, it's about Hardcastle. Please just let him live." This time he sat back, leaning his head back against the chair he sat in, he closed his eyes and repeated his prayer for Milt in silence. When he opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, he saw that someone had painted the picture of an angel up there.

He fell asleep for who knew how long, sitting up straight, with his left hand resting on Millie beside him.

The nurse came up beside him and gave him a gentle shake. "Mr. McCormick?"

His eyes popped open. "Yes?"

"Dr. Sanders asked me to come get you."

Mark didn't let her go any further, he interrupted. "The Judge? Is he okay?" He rose to his feet and picked up Millie

"Yes, he's still critical, but he's very much alive. That's why Dr. Sanders wanted me to come and get you. He's showing some signs of improvement. He thought maybe if he saw you and heard your voice, it would help," the nurse explained.

"Yeah, anything," Mark responded, as he picked up Millie.

"Follow me."

Dr Sanders waited for him out in the hall. "He's still unconscious, but his vitals are improving. I think perhaps if you go in and talk to him, well, I think it may be just the medicine he needs."

Mark nodded.

The room was moderately bright with florescent light as Mark stepped inside. It was oddly unusual to see Milt flat on his back, but there he was, hooked up to every sort of monitor and fluid the hospital had. He took a breath and moved toward the bed.

"Hiya Judge," he began, a bit of uncertainness in his own voice. "Uh, the doctor said you're gonna be all right. They took you into surgery and got you all sown up now and good as new. So I can't stay long in here, because they want you to rest, but I wanted to let you know that everything is okay, we got Weed Randall and all you have to do is get well and get out of here and we can chase after a new batch of bad guys." He stood still, looking the Judge over, watching for any sign of consciousness but nothing happened. He cautiously reached out his hand to the Judge's and patted it ever so slightly, knowing that Milt wouldn't like that sort of show of affection. "Just get better will ya? You're girlfriend here wants you back," he sort of lifted up Millie. He waited a few more minutes and then exited the room.

The nurse and Dr. Sanders watched Mark leave the Judge's room and she said to the doctor. "Thank you doctor, I think that young man needed to see his friend."

"Somehow I think they both needed that," Sanders responded, "Look," he pointed to Hardcastle's remote heart monitor, "His rate continues to improve."

OOOOO

A day and a half later, Mark carried in Millie as he went to see his now conscious and much improved friend.

"Hey Hardcastle, I thought I was hearing things, but you are awake huh? How are you feeling?" Mark tried to put on a positive face for his friend.

"It wouldn't do any good to say, so let's just say I'm alive and leave it at that. I heard Frank had to practically scrap you out of the waiting room to get you to go home and take a shower," Milt began, noticing right off that the kid was holding on to his gun. He knew what had happened from Harper, but he was anxious to hear McCormick's version and the kid appeared to be ready to talk.

Mark wasn't surprised that Frank had already been in to see Milt. He figured he probably flashed his badge again before he went in to work. "Well that's not exactly true, it was more like peeling," Mark paused and added, "I guess I was worried about you, what can I say?"

"Ah, I'm too mean to die from just one bullet…."


End file.
